Gives You Wings
by CaketinTheHobo
Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8 FINALE. I got inspired by a tumblr post: "Imagine Castiel drinking Red Bull because it promises to give wings. But no matter how much he's drinking, nothing happens. Just imagine his disappointed and broken heart."


_**Okay so normally I'm not know for my oneshots, but I managed to knock this out in a couple of hours and I'm faintly proud of it. The idea of it came from a post, which stated: **_**"**_Imagine Castiel drinking Red Bull because it promises to give wings. But no matter how much he's drinking, nothing happens. Just imagine his disappointed and broken heart._**" ****_and somehow I was inspired and wrote this._**

**_So yeah, it's sad. _**

**_It contains the requisite spoilers for Season 8, but none for Season 9. There isn't any shipping, I guess you could say there is slight destiel but only if you really really really squint._**

**_I guess all I can say here is enjoy!_**

* * *

Dean barely notices it at first. It's just something in his periphery, something that he thinks he should question but doesn't really get around to it.

It all started when Castiel came back to them, after finding his way to the Bunker after falling to Earth; after Metatron's trick that forced him to become a human. Except Cas had barely any notion of _how _be a human. He'd picked up that he'd needed to eat, sleep, and clean himself, but the extent of human complexity was still, as ever, a mystery to him.

Sometimes Dean just found him sitting in front of the TV set they had set up, flicking through channels, but not really _watching. _It reminded Dean of the time, long ago, after his mother had died, and John had been the same. The one force that had kept them on the straight and narrow was no longer there.

John had found his release in hunting. Castiel, somewhat, did the same. He helped Sam and Dean the best he could, providing information he recalled from his time as a celestial being. His fighting skills were second to none if he carried a blade of some sort (Dean had given him an angel one he'd picked up) and he was pretty decent at picking up the trace of a hunt in the local news.

He also learns to live like a hunter too; sleep anywhere, eat whenever you can, and when there's coffee, you drink it.

They're in a grocery store just outside of some small town in Oregon when Dean first spots Castiel standing somewhat listlessly in the refrigerated drinks aisle. He walks over; browsing the shelf Castiel is gazing at. Or through. Whatever.

"Energy drinks, huh?" he says, trying to make his tone somewhat normal, to hide the worry that's been circling him ever since Cas first stepped through the door after his fall.

Dean has no idea how to _be _around Cas anymore. Sure, he's functioning, like a regular human, but up until a month or so ago, Cas was anything _but. _So, he tries for humour, anything to get a smile on Castiel's face. Hell, anything to stop the guy looking so damn _sad. _

"You know they say this one gives you wings?" he says, before realising that _fuck why did he just say that. _

Dean shuts his mouth down pretty fast after that.

"You got everything you need?" he asks instead. "I'll wait by the counter for you."

It's a further minute before Castiel joins him, and he silently places a can of Red Bull on the counter next to Dean's basket.

* * *

It's another month before Dean even picks up Castiel's new habit. They're sitting in a diner off the Interstate, on their way to a case in Colorado. And, the thing is, it's _Sam _who notices Castiel drinking from a can of Red Bull.

"Dude, what _is _it with you and that stuff lately?" he asks. "I swear you drink like a can a day."

Castiel, for his part, shrugs. He'd never been one for talking _before, _now he's even worse, unless he's explaining something to do with a case or questioning a witness (which they don't let him do often, that time in Oklahoma City still lingers in Dean's memory). "I prefer it to coffee," he says eventually, and Dean winces.

"_Really?" _he asks. "Man, of all the drinks for you to like and you pick that crap."

"Yeah, well, don't drink too many," Sam says. "I read somewhere that you can get serious heart problems from those."

Castiel nods and lapses into silence again, staring out of the window.

* * *

They clear a few more cases after that: two salt-and-burns, and one vampire nest that has Sam limping for a week after one threw him into a pile of scaffolding.

At the Bunker, things are normal. Or, what can be considered normal for the huge stinking pile of crap that Dean's life is. One thing he does notice, however, is that Castiel becomes slightly more withdrawn, and quieter, if that's possible.

He's still healthy, physically, and Dean's pretty sure that the crazy that was around him a couple of years ago jumped ship when they got the express ticket to Purgatory. He's fit, he can still take Dean down to the ground within about a minute if they ever have a sparring session (Heaven's training regime was _intense) _and he can still pull his equal weight in research and the other demands of their job.

It's the smaller things, however. He takes longer to eat his meals than he used to. He'll retire to his room in a motel earlier than he used to. And he just _stares. _

Okay, so he used to do that a fair bit while he still had his powers, but now it's worse. It's _sad, _almost _despondent_.

Then there comes the night when Dean discovers why.

It's fairly normal. They go through some files from the Men of Letters – something they do periodically when they're back at the Bunker – and they eat. Sam mentions they're running low on some supplies, and Cas offers to go and get them, despite the late hour.

Dean tosses him the keys to the Impala, along with the requisite lines about what will happen if Cas manages to crash his car. He is a fairly decent driver, though; apparently his body remembers how to do it, even if it's under control from a not-so-celestial being rather than Jimmy Novak.

It's later, after Castiel arrives back with the supplies and they've all gone their separate ways for the night that Dean is roused by a crash from another room.

Instantly on the alert, he reaches for the gun kept loaded nearby, as well as a knife from the cabinet. Mapping out the bunker in his head, he resolves that the sound came from somewhere near the vicinity of Castiel's room.

The door's ajar, a thin sliver of light emanating from inside. Dean nudges the door with his gun, discovering the source of the noise while he does so.

Castiel is stood in front of the mirror, wearing only sweatpants, his right fist is a bloody mess, and the mirror is a spider web of bloodstained cracks from where he'd clearly punched it. He's breathing heavily, most likely due to the fact the mirror looks as though it's been hit more than once.

Dean is frozen in shock for a moment, but he quickly shuts that down and lowers his weapons, throwing them to Sam, who'd joined him in the corridor.

"Cas?" he asks a little uncertainly, stepping inside. His bare foot brushes something cold, and he flinches a little, before crouching and picking up the crumpled can. He can tell it was a Red Bull can at somepoint in its life, but it's been crushed beyond measure.

Cas turns to look at him then, and Dean nearly fucking falls apart at the _look _on Castiel's face. The desperation mixed with loss mixed with sadness and complete and utter _hopelessness. _

"Cas," he says again, a little softer, walking into the room properly. "What's going on?"

Castiel, for his part, looks like he's about to cry, and then he fucking _does. _Tears well up in his bright blue eyes and suddenly he's crying and Dean's stood there at his door looking like a complete idiot.

So, Dean's instincts take over, and he does what he always used to do when Sam cried as a kid. He steps forward, and wraps his arms around the former angel, and just fucking _hugs _him.

Cas is still crying, but he's now crying into Dean's shoulder, soaking through the material of his shirt. His arms, uncertain at first, encircle Dean's back and soon he's pretty much leaning into Dean as sobs wrack his body. It's all Dean can do to just _hold _the man and go through the motions. Whatever caused this, it's clearly been niggling at Cas for some time now.

Eventually he calms down enough for Dean to get him sat down on the bed and able to get a look at his hand. Methodically, he cleans and starts to bandage it, using a med kit that Sam passed to him from the door. Sam stays in his position by the door as Dean cleans, and Castiel speaks for the first time, between sniffs and hiccoughs.

"You- you said," he begins in a voice that's barely there and croaking from the amount of crying, "You said that it gave you wings."

Dean freezes in his bandaging of Cas's hand.

_Shit._

_Fuck._

He caused this. Him and his _fucking _motor mouth. He hears Sam mutter a quiet "Oh jeez," from the door, and he's pretty sure Sam is feeling about as shit has he is at the moment.

"Is that why you've been drinking this crap?" he asks eventually, and Castiel nods.

Dean doesn't answer for a while, instead finishing tying the bandage over Cas's hand.

"Shit Cas, I-"

"I should have realised," Castiel interrupted, somewhat forcefully. It didn't do anything to lessen the air of dejection emanating from the man.

"I shouldn't have said it," Dean said. "I mean, it's a pretty crappy thing to say to an angel, right?"

"I'm not an angel," Cas said miserably, looking down. "And I was foolish to think that I would be able to regain my wings in such a manner. I-" He paused, and looked up, fresh tears threatening to form in his eyes. "I drank it every day, and then I'd check to see if there was any change. When there was none, after a _month, _I... lashed out," he gestured to the mirror. "I apologise for my conduct."

"Cas, look at me," Dean said, briefly touching the man's bare shoulder – _shit, I should really get him a blanket. _"What you did, you wanna know what that was?" he asked.

Castiel turned to face him, a frown on his face. "It was foolishness."

"Well, yeah, it was a little, but it was also _hope. _I mean, you were so willing to believe that this stuff would get you off the ground, you drank it _every day. _Did you even like it?" he asked. Castiel shook his head. "Right, so you drank this without liking it, simply because you _hoped _that it would work. You probably believed it would at somepoint, right? Well, that's hope. And it's human. You're human, Cas – as much as it pains me to say it – and you're gonna act like a human at points of your life. I mean, it's not like you've hurt anybody – besides yourself and the mirror, I guess – and you know what? There's always hope."

Dean ignored the quiet laugh from Sam at that point, who _knew _he was quoting _Lord of the Rings._

"Look, Cas, there ain't much I can do for you," Dean sighed. "All I can do is promise that if and when we find a way to reverse this – and we will, by the way – we're gonna reverse it. And then you can smite Metatron's ass into next century. And _then _kill him."

"I think I would rather let him fall and tell him that this concoction will give him wings," Castiel said, and Dean suppressed a laugh.

"Yeah, we could do that," he grins. "Now, I don't want you punching any more mirrors out, you hear me? _Or _drinking this stuff. Just... ask, next time. Check, or I dunno, _Google_ it. But don't do this again, _don't _shut yourself in here with some plan that may or may not work. I don't think we can afford the mirrors."

Finally, Castiel smiles, and for Dean it's like the fucking sun coming out after so long of just _nothing _from him.

"All right then, I'm gonna try and finish my night's sleep. You gonna be okay?"

He receives a small nod in return, and he stands, heading to the door, where he shares a grimace with Sam.

"Dean," Cas calls. "I- thank you."

"It's cool," Dean smiles. "If you need anything, you know where I am."

_**A/N: and yep, this is it. I hoped you enjoyed it. I made myself rather sad writing it. I shall provide a link to the original post on tumblr if any of you are interested - it'll be on my profile :)**_


End file.
